A Moment of Weakness
by Jacksgirl217
Summary: A rare moment is shared between two people who find it hard to let others in.


**A/N: **Holla! Another little something for you lovely people. Enjoy. Xx

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**A Moment of Weakness**

A large portion of Radiant Garden now stood in ruins; years of restoration reduced to smouldering ashes and crumbling stone within hours of the Heartless attacking. A lot of people had died. Their screams had echoed through the burning streets like wailing dogs, distorted and terrified, rising and falling over the sounds of battle; voices, trembling in fear. The crackle of the fire as it had snapped over the burning houses, sounds like broken bones, and the groaning of timber as masonry fell all resonated within Leon. It resonated so violently that his body shook, the pain of fear so acute that it thrummed its way through his body, making it difficult to drag one breath after the other in a painful, uneven staccato. His chest ached right were his carefully guarded heart used to beat.

The kitchen of the restoration headquarters was surprisingly quiet, considering. The blooded and soot encrusted leader had found a few moments for himself. His weary and aching legs were folded carefully at the ankle and tucked underneath the chair, his head bent low over hands with fingers laced, and a curtain of grubby hair enshrouded a pale and war marked face. With eyes closed he tried to breathe evenly through his nose, filling his aching lungs with clean air, and wrestled with the heaviness that lay across his shoulders. So many had died! His eyebrows creased a little and his fingers tightened their grip on each other, the rough skin snagging against itself; leather gloves lay one atop the other, neatly piled on the edge of the table. He breathed deeply through his nose, the air catching in the back of his throat, making him cough; his lungs still fire damaged and filled with smoke. His mouth felt gritty but water was far from his mind.

The back door opened and a cold breeze whispered across the exposed flesh of Leon's arm, the hairs rising and his scorched skin prickled. The door was pushed too and the chill was extinguished and the light rustle of clothing and the press of boots against wooden flooring echoed in the silence. A chair to the right of him creaked as it was pulled out, wood sliding against wood as the legs scrapped the floorboards and then a soft rumbled word, spoken gently, tentatively, as if made of something fragile, "Leon."

The gunblader didn't move. His head still bowed and his eyes still pressed firmly closed, he refused to acknowledge the other's presence, though his fingers stiffened just the smallest fraction.

"Leon, you're hurt," the voice insisted again, this time the tone slightly harder, an edge of warning and worry.

Slowly, like two small cracks of ice splitting apart to reveal the chilling grey of the sea, Leon's eyes slid open and stared at his hands for a long time.

"It doesn't matter," he replied eventually, his voice raw and wounded.

"Don't be foolish," that hard tone turned reproachful. Leon watched from the corner of his eye as the blond warrior stood, disappearing from sight only to reappear seconds later and place a box on the table, his own gloves now removed. He let the younger man remove the items needed and place them on the table before grinding out through gritted teeth, "I'm fine."

"This isn't a discussion, Squall," Cloud said, pushing more meaning behind the use of that name than he'd ever done before. He'd meant it to be a reminder – a gentle shove – to impress on the older man that he was not invincible and that the stubbornness of his youth was no longer an acceptable reason to avoid concern. Instead, it had ignited so much pain; so many horrendous memories that Leon felt the air from his fire-blasted lungs leave him in an agonising whoosh.

"Don't call me that," Leon whispered, the plea so small and broken that Cloud stopped his preparations and settled his glowing, careful gaze on the older man. He watched as Leon's eyes slid closed, the press of his lashes breaking the line of tears that sat in them and then followed them, as they slowly tracked their way towards his chin, breaking clean lines through the grime on his cheeks. They collected at his chin, wavering for a second before marking the table with wet little puddles that soaked up quickly into the grain of the wood.

A wet sniff and shaking shoulders brought Cloud to his feet. He rounded the table and knelt at Leon's side, being careful to avoid the burns on the gunblader's arm as he broke the man's hold on his other hand. He pulled the arm away and moved into the space inside, weaving his hand up into tangled and matted hair to stroke the side of Leon's face. He smudged the tear tracks and the dirt and felt relief flood his heart only for an instant as Leon pressed his cheek into his touch. "Leon, don't you dare," he warned, his voice soft yet commanding, "Don't you dare start to blame yourself."

"There were so many…"

And Cloud didn't know whether Leon meant the Heartless or the dead, because in truth, there had been too many of both. He placed his other hand, warm and comforting, against the other side of Leon's face and cradled him, pushing back dirty auburn bangs and stroking a thumb lightly against the moisture stains. He waited until Leon had opened his eyes and those sharp, glacier orbs that were now so full of pain – red rimmed and watery – came to rest on Cloud's face, which mirrored so much of his lover's hurt. "It wasn't your fault," he said, his own eyes burning with sincerity.

Leon's trembling fingers found their way to Cloud's body, wrapping themselves into the material of his sweater. Had he been alone – had he allowed himself to fall into that dark abyss – he might never have survived. His own clamorous, poisonous thoughts sometimes screamed so loud, the gunblader had often feared he would drown in them. The arrival of Cloud had changed a lot of things.

"Don't do this to yourself, Leon. Not again."

Cloud's words, his eyes, his light and gentle touch on Leon's face drew the older man back and he felt his mind snap closed. All of those howling demons, the ghosts of his failings grew silent and although his heart was still heavy with loss and regret, his soundless sobs ceased. He closed his eyes, squeezing the last few tears from them and then nodded, almost imperceptibly. When he opened them, his eyes were steely and determined once again. They shared a look, a small knowing glance of reassurance before Cloud leaned up and kissed Leon, the contact brief but firm and sure.

They parted and Cloud climbed to his feet, his hands slipping from Leon's face as the older man looked up at him, waiting for the younger to tell him what to do. It was a moment of weakness that Leon could never have shared with anyone else.

"Come on," the younger man said, "There's still work to be done."

Tugging lightly on a tangled bang, Cloud smiled softly down at his lover and watched as the weariness, the self-doubt and the ghosts fell from Leon's face and were replaced with a tired smile. The older man stood, reaching out a hand to capture Cloud's cheek and pull him in for a kiss that lasted just a fraction too long, but was in all ways, entirely too short. "Thank you," he breathed against the younger's lips, running a thumb gently along the bottom one.

Cloud smirked and stepped away, jerking his head towards the door. "Come on, they're waiting for us."

Leon sighed heavily, his rounded shoulders straightening ever so slightly, he turned and picked up his singed jacket from off the back of the chair and put it on, taking his time replacing his worn out gloves. Turning once again, his face blank and grim he straightened his back and curled his fists, the leather creaking with the movement. His eyes settled on Cloud.

"I'm ready."


End file.
